


That Time of the Month

by reapertownusa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Cock & Ball Torture, Enemas, Gen, Humiliation, Masturbation, Nudity, Object Insertion, Paddling, Prostate Massage, Spanking, Strapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-08
Updated: 2011-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-27 01:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a society that dictates young men need to be managed in order to keep them healthy and on their best behavior, John can't trust anyone but himself to attend to his boys' needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Time of the Month

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Abuse presented as a social norm, spanking, enemas, masturbation, prostate milking. Gen, but has John interacting with the boys in what would otherwise be non-penetrative sexual scenarios.
> 
> Author’s Note: PWP with backhanded social commentary and...there's nothing right here - just go with it.

The boys were silent as John drove the Impala into the nearly full lot of the Best Western. In the rearview mirror, he caught a glimpse of their shock stricken faces. When he’d said this needed to be dealt with now, he had meant right now.

But he’d never been one to make idle threats, and his sons knew that. It was likely that their surprise was less in him carrying through and more in his choice of location.

This place didn’t rent rooms by the hour and was all around a far cry from their typical no-questions-asked accommodations. To top it off, tourists swarmed around the large hotel. John neither knew nor cared what the occasion was. This was the only lodging available for the next hundred miles.

After Dean had practically thrown himself at a set of barely legal twins during an interview, this was the only option John was left with. Add to that Sam’s argumentative insistence that at twenty-two Dean should be able to do whatever the hell he wanted and John knew he had been remiss in not attending to his sons sooner.

Realizing the urgency of the situation, he had nearly pulled off on a side road, but that wouldn’t be fair to his boys. Even if it required expending a little extra credit, they deserved a proper room to recover in and he didn’t need any nosey spectators stumbling on them. It wasn’t customary for a father to manage his own sons. The last thing he needed was questions about why he wasn’t having a professional attend to his boys.

Not too long after Dean had turned seventeen, some teacher that didn’t know how to mind her own business had pried into Dean’s management. She was horrified by Dean’s ‘unusually high sexual appetite’. One thing led to another and soon CPS was knocking at his door with allegations of neglect, asking why Dean wasn’t being properly managed.

In all honesty, John hadn’t initially bought into the management program. Of course he’d been managed until he married, but his family’s doctor had just done the bare minimum provided for under his parent’s insurance coverage. It hadn’t been enough to make a difference and had left John questioning the practice.

That was until CPS would only get off his back after guiding him through a home session with Dean. The difference in his son after the treatment was night and day. Suddenly Dean was following orders with greater care than he ever had before. There was no more running into a situation without looking both ways, or his attention wandering towards the hottest thing that happened to walk by.

He had started Sam on the program early. Sam’s problem was never with attention lapses due to girls, but rather his incessant need to dispute orders. Those orders that Sam thought were so demeaning could easily mean the difference between life and death.

A typical stringent management program would have him attending to his sons only once every six months. That might work for most, but most didn’t have boys with stamina like his. After some trial and error, he had settled on one session a month, which would be tomorrow.

“You boys wait here,” John said. “I’ll get us a room.”

It was all the explanation needed. Both boys looked miserable, Dean sitting rigidly in the passenger seat beside him and Sam sprawled over the backbench. Neither protested nor held the delusion that he wanted to do this. It was simply an accepted necessity.

After checking in, John returned to the car and grabbed the only bag they would need. They weren’t staying the night. This was only a layover before they returned to the hunt. It was the danger of the current hunt that dictated that he needed his boys more focused than ever.

Dean walked at his side, only staying a step behind while Sam dragged his feet and pretended not to be associated with them. The hallway John led the boys down was intensely lit and bland. When they entered the room it was more of the same. There was a single bed immaculately done up with generic blue print covers and carefully folded-over white sheets. On the walls were a couple of stock photos of the ocean.

After latching the security chain and drawing the curtains, John nodded to the boys. They both immediately began to undress. It was the only time even Sam knew to shut his mouth and follow the order. Hate it as he might, Sam had admitted more than once to knowing it was for his own good.

Sam kicked off his boots and Dean stripped off his shirts while John headed to the bathroom. Opening up the olive military duffel, he pulled out a wide wooden hairbrush, lubricant, two enema bags, soap, a pitcher and a prostate stimulator recommended by Pastor Jim. He laid the items out on the bathroom counter and turned on the hot water side of the tub’s faucet.

“Dean, get in here,” John called as he tested the water with his fingers.

As he worked on adjusting the temperature, his eldest appeared in the doorway. Dean stood naked with his head lowered and his hands twitching nervously at his side. Without really looking at him, John nodded towards the toilet.

“Do your business and get in position.”

It wasn’t necessary that Dean be completely naked for this, Sam tended to keep a t-shirt on and John didn’t have an issue with that as long as Sam did his own laundry. Wearing nothing was Dean’s choice for a logic that John had never completely grasped, something about feeling like a bigger douchebag standing around with his ass hanging out of a t-shirt than just stripping down. His son always did have a way words.

By the time Dean had flushed, John had filled up the pitcher with warm, soapy water. As he took the enema bag from the counter, Dean kneeled on the linoleum floor. John filled the bag and Dean positioned himself on his hands and elbows, letting his chest and head rest against the floor while leaving his rear positioned high. A shiver shook through Dean and drew a frown across John’s already grim lips.

“Do you need a towel to lie on?” John asked.

Dean stubbornly shook his head against the cool floor. “No, sir.”

There was no point in arguing about it. Like the t-shirt, if Dean wanted to be cold it was his choice. He may not be old enough to control his sex drive, but Dean was old enough to make his own decisions in most other areas.

“Come on, Sam,” John said while grabbing the lube from the counter.

He squirted a small dab of the lube on the enema nozzle and rubbed it over the surface as Sam strode in. His youngest came in with his chin held defiantly high and his arms crossed over his chest. The stance suggested that Sam was looking for a fight, but he wouldn’t be getting one. John simply narrowed his eyes and again nodded to the toilet.

“Do what you have to and get on the floor.”

It was a tight space for the three of them and Sam had to step over Dean to get to the toilet. Still, it was larger than some areas they’d had to do this in. Privacy was a null factor considering their lifestyle.

Releasing the clamp on the enema tube, John held it over the tub and let the air rush out until the first squirt of soapy water hit the ceramic. He kneeled behind Dean and gently pressed the lubricated tip of the nozzle against his son’s opening. After a moment, Dean relaxed his muscles and let the nozzle slide easily inside him. By this point, John was fully familiar with what angle of entrance best suited each of his sons.

With the clamp again tightened on the tube, John hung the full enema bag from the shower rod. Sam ducked beneath the tube and slipped around to the other side of the bathroom. He assumed the same position as Dean, facing away from his brother so that their bare feet nearly touched and John had easy simultaneous access to both of them.

It wasn’t initially possible to do them both at the same time considering the urgency that followed, but his boys were now well practiced in holding their enemas. Afterwards they just had to wait their turns for potty privileges and deal with the consequences should they have an accident. It was rarely the case anymore and the self-restraint it taught carried over into the hunt.

After he slicked the nozzle of the second enema bag, John filled the next bag, hanging Sam’s on the doorknob over his youngest son’s head. He pushed up Sam’s shirt, eased the nozzle into his youngest son and released the clamp to begin the flow of the water.

When he released the clamp on Dean’s bag, his son grunted at the high-pressure influx of water caused by the extreme angle of the bag’s position. A spasm rippled through Dean’s abdominal muscles as he rode the pain of a cramp. Sam couldn’t handle it, but Dean on the other hand, needed it for the very reason that quickly made itself apparent.

As the water rushed in to fill his colon, Dean’s erection soon came to attention. His son squeezed his eyes closed, trying to hide his flushed cheeks in his arms. When Dean again moaned, John slowed the flow to allow his son to work through the worst of the cramping.

“Don’t be such a wuss,” Sam griped.

At the chastising, Dean tried uselessly to bury his face further and bite back any other sounds. After thirty seconds, John resumed the flow on Dean’s bag, which emptied considerably faster than Sam’s low hanging one. John again turned on the tub to make up another pitcher of solution while both boys began to shift uncomfortably on the floor.

“Do you need more, Sam?” John asked after checking Sam’s empty bag.

“No,” Sam muttered under his breath.

“Are you full?”

There was a moment of delay before Sam released a disgruntle sigh. “No, sir.”

Nodding to himself, he poured another half pint into Sam’s bag before giving Dean a full refill. Dean’s shoulders tensed and his rear began to twitch. If Dean was still cramping he was going to have to say so. Communication was key to survival.

Finally, his eldest did speak, “Dad, I can’t take anymore.” It was a nice try, but John was well familiarized with his son’s limits and knew that he could in fact take more. More to the point, he needed more.

“I need you to, son.”

Dean took in a sharp, hitched breath before nodding. “Yes, sir.”

Moving on to Sam’s bag, John found it empty and, this time, Sam was not sitting comfortably but shifting with an increased urgency. “You’ll hold it for fifteen minutes,” he informed Sam. “Ten for you, Dean, and stop squirming unless you need fifteen too.” John stood from the edge of the tub and stepped past Sam. “I’m going to make some calls for the case. Remain in position until I get back.”

In the main room, John took a seat and let out a deep breath. There was no hunt that sapped his energy as much as attending to his boys did. It was never easy for a father to see his sons hurting, even if it was unquestionably for the best.

He made his calls before returning to the bathroom eleven minutes later. Sam now also had his head buried and Dean was breathing quickly, sweat beginning to glisten on his back as he clenched his muscles. Technically he was still squirming, but John didn’t have the heart to make him endure holding the four quarts inside him a minute longer. That was why he’d had to pass the time in the other room.

Rubbing a supportive hand over Dean’s trembling shoulder, John gave him a gentle pat. “Okay, Dean. You did good.”

Stumbling to his feet, Dean made a dash for the toilet while John turned his attention to Sam. He crouched down next to the boy who was stubbornly staring at the floor. John waited patiently for Sam’s eyes to reluctantly find his.

“You doing alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

“As soon as Dean is done, it’s your turn. Dean, bring me the hairbrush when you’re ready. You’ll need your belt too.”

Dean bowed his head and nodded. “Yes, sir...sorry, sir,” he added quietly.

“It’s not your fault. That’s why we’re working through it together.”

Again stepping over Sam, John left the bathroom somehow wearier than when he’d last left it. There was no part of this he enjoyed, but the next part he found the hardest to bear.

Dean emerged from the bathroom with the wooden hairbrush in one hand and a belt loosely hung in the other. His erection was relaxed, but still present. They’d have to deal with that first.

His eldest solemnly handed the tools to John, who momentarily set the hairbrush aside. “Over to the bed, legs spread, one arm bracing the other on your penis.”

Moisture glistened in Dean’s eyes as he walked towards the bed. John pursed his lips. He knew those tears on the edge of falling had little to do with the discomfort of the enema or the pain to come.

“Hey, come here,” John said.

Dean stopped just as he began to bend over the bed. His shoulders were tensed with uncertainty as he again straightened. He cast his eyes down to the floor as he took a few steps closer to stand awkwardly in front of John.

“You look at me.” His eldest’s eyes snapped up at the order. A tear track was already tracing down his freckled cheek. “You know I’m doing this to help you, right?”

Dean’s eyes again found his feet before he nodded.

“This isn’t anything that’s wrong with you. You’ll learn to control it.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean said with a sniffle.

John’s tone softened. “And Dean?”

His son tilted his head as he brought his gaze up from the floor. “Yeah, Dad?”

“I’m real proud of you, son.”

Dean looked startled and a familiar guilt settled over John. He knew he didn’t say it enough. They were always wrapped up in one thing or another with no chance to breathe, let alone say what needed to be said. But he thought it every night as sleep overtook him.

His boys were nothing short of amazing. They just needed a little help.

The way the tension eased from Dean’s features before he returned to the bed said everything. Dean understood that this wasn’t a punishment for anything he’d done wrong. It was only training and a means of keeping his libido in check until Dean had matured enough to do that for himself.

“Just tell me if you need to go back to the bathroom,” John said as he took the belt in his hand.

Dean bent over the bed. His left hand spread over the comforter to steady himself while his other hand reached between his thighs. It was no longer necessary to tell his son what to do, thank God.

John patiently stood behind him with the leather of the belt doubled over in his palm as Dean stroked himself hard. Dean made quiet, frustrated sounds as his hand pumped his slowly forming erection. It couldn’t be an easy task considering that Dean knew once he was close to climax he was going to get a serious tanning.

Over the years, John had come to be able to read the signs of arousal in his son and knew when he was near to coming. Dean’s hips began to jerk forward into his hand. John tightened his grip on the belt and gave Dean his warning.

“Brace,” John ordered.

He snapped the leather sharply across Dean’s pale skin. Without permission, Dean took his hand from his erection and placed it on the bed. Dean yelped a moment later when John immediately delivered a harsh lash to bite the tender skin at the crease of his upper thighs.

Dean fumbled to return to position through the haze of arousal. John let the stinging strokes enforce the message of the need for self-control while Dean continued to run his fingers down his shaft until he came. With the fitful spurts, Dean’s knees went weak and he partially collapsed forward over the bed.

John placed a steadying hand at the small of Dean’s trembling back before rearing his arm back to lay down three more heavy lashes one over the other on top of Dean’s most tender spot. He adjusted his son’s position on the bed and parted his legs further.

A stifled whimper left Dean even before John brought the belt down so that the tip laid a fiery sting over Dean’s exposed sac. Dean cried out, the sound not nearly muffled enough by the blankets not to gut John. It didn’t stop him from doing what he had to and repeating the action, using his own legs to pin Dean’s and stop his son from curling into himself.

John’s calloused hand rubbed circles over his back until Dean’s choked sobs steadied enough that his son was able to breathe. He pulled Dean up from the bed. His son wavered on his feet and John kept a hand on his arm until Dean looked steady. He then sent him to stand in the corner with a sound swat to his welted rear.

Standing in the corner was for children. Sam had informed him of as much, but Sam forgot that they were his children. No matter how old they got, they would always be his baby boys. There was also the fact that the humiliation of standing in a corner was only that much more effective on children old enough to know how embarrassing it really was.

Even at that, embarrassment was far from the primary objective. It was the complete submission that John required. For their safety, it was necessary that they unquestionably complied with every order and this time of the month was his opportunity to reemphasize his position of authority while he saw to the health of his sons.

“Sam, your turn,” John said.

Dean was standing stiffly with his nose in the corner by the time John’s reluctant baby boy came out of the bathroom. Sam winced as he caught sight of Dean’s displayed backside and without having to be told, searched out the hairbrush on the table.

Sam stood in front of John with the hairbrush presented to him. “Sorry I was such a jerk.”

“You’re a teenager, Sam. Jerk is in the job description.” John tapped the brush against the palm of his hand. “You were only looking out for your brother and I never want you to stop doing that. You just need to remember that you and I – we’re trying to do the same thing for Dean.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This is just maintenance to help you remember.”

“I need that,” Sam admitted.

“Only until those raging hormones steady out,” John reminded him. “If not for that, you could do it on your own.”

Sam nodded, turning the corner of John’s lip up slightly as those long bangs flopped over his eyes. It was time to get them cut, but this time just before they were cut, while they were a little too long, was John’s favorite.

When Sam had been little he’d gone through a period where he’d refused to let them be cut until he couldn’t see at all. Finally, Sam had hacked them off himself. John had been furious at the time, but now the memory made him smile when not much else could.

As Sam leaned over the bed, John wished Sam was still small enough to effectively take over his knee. There was something overly clinical about having his boys bend over furniture. It took an important level of connection out of the equation, making if feel more like he was administering unnecessarily harsh corporal punishment to good boys and less like he was taking care of his family.

Before he brought the brush down on Sam, he glanced towards Dean who was rocking in the corner. “Do you need to go, Dean?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean replied with a hint of desperation.

“Then go.”

Dean left the corner and made a beeline for the bathroom. John just shook his head before tapping the brush against Sam’s solid rear muscles. He wasn’t sure at what point his lanky boy had started to fill out.

Sam jerked at the first solid whack. This was going to be a long spanking for the both of them.

John brought the next hit down just close enough to overlap the clear red impression from the first, following that pattern in a line across the top of Sam’s backside before working back across along the same line then moving slightly down and doing the same. He varied the intensity of the smacks, but in general brought them down harder as he moved down.

By the time he had made it midway down, Dean was back in the corner. John’s frown deepened. Dean was almost flinching more at each hard impact against Sam’s abused skin than Sam himself was. There was no reason Dean had to endure the sound of his brother’s spanking, but there was nowhere else to send him given that they were far from done.

He could at least finish this later. Moving down, he slammed several good, hard paddles over Sam’s sit spot, leaving his boy whimpering. As he had with Dean, he rubbed his hand reassuringly over Sam’s back before letting him get up. Dean sought the physical contact of John helping him up, but Sam insisted on being let to do it on his own.

When Sam was up, he stopped, leaning forward slightly to submit to a final sending off swat. John delivered the sharp smack over the hot skin he’d just attended to before letting Sam stand in the corner with Dean. There, Sam wiped the tears that he was pretending weren’t falling as Dean rubbed a comforting hand over Sam’s shoulder. Sam didn’t hesitate in doing the same for his brother.

They’d always insisted on sharing a timeout corner after a spanking. Since they’d been children, John had never known whether to smile or cry at the sight of his boys nestled together with their matching cherry red bottoms turned out.

“Dean, come over here,” John said after having given them a minute to comfort each other. “On the bed, on all fours.”

Dean limped over, grimacing with every step. He kneeled sideways on the bed as John returned to the bathroom to wash his hands and get the lube and a towel. He placed the towel on the bed beneath Dean and squeezed a glob of lube over his finger. Dean stifled a gasp as John gently rubbed the lube over Dean’s opening.

John prepared the area before pushing in, carefully stretching the entrance and allowing the muscles time to relax before pressing further. This was by far the easiest with Dean. The prostate of his eldest was excessively reactive and positioned just low enough that John could effectively massage it with his finger alone.

His finger didn’t have to search long before finding the slight bulge. A shiver of pleasure ran down Dean’s spine as John ran his lubed finger over it. The same time the arousal coursed through Dean, his son’s head and shoulders slumped.

Dean was understandably upset by his body’s reaction, even though he was not to blame for it. It was the problem that needed attending and Dean’s already thrashed rear end would be revisiting the issue, but right now it was the cleansing of Dean’s prostate gland that was of prime concern. John smoothly rubbed over his focus area with a downward motion.

“Sam, grab your supplies and come join your brother.”

At the order, Sam left the corner and headed for the bathroom. He came back with a towel and prostate stimulator. Laying out the towel on the bed, Sam retrieved the lube before he climbed up to kneel on his hands and knees beside Dean.

John held his left hand out to Sam who squirted some lube onto John’s finger. While continuing to lightly massage Dean’s prostate, John worked his other hand into Sam’s slightly resistant opening. It took some coordination to properly attend to both of them, and given the time, he preferred to do them separately, but they didn’t have all day for this.

Once Sam’s entrance was ready, his son handed him the lubed stimulator. John pressed the flowing angles of the stimulator to the necessary depth. It left Sam equipped to manage the prostate milking on his own simply by contracting his internal muscles. Again, it let Sam have some much needed autonomy and also dealt with the problem that John’s finger wasn’t quite long enough to efficiently work Sam’s prostate.

The seminal fluid soon flowed through Dean’s slightly hardened erection and onto the towel beneath him. John continued his methodic motions as the heat of Dean’s internal muscles gripped around his finger. His son dropped his head to the mattress as the pleasure of the sensation continued to wash over him. It was a long, difficult process for the both of them.

When John was satisfied that the gland had been fully cleansed, he retrieved the brush and began to work over Dean’s rear in a similar fashion as he had with Sam. Each smack of the solid wood clenched Dean’s exposed muscles and a chocked moan from his son. As Dean’s bottom took on a deepening red tone, the lattice pattern from the belt’s strokes blended together.

Milky fluid began to also drip from Sam’s still soft cock. Sam hung his head as the extended prostate orgasm worked through him. John watched to make sure the flow reached a sufficient level before continuing the swats to Dean’s behind. With the burning in his own rear, it would be harder for Dean to worry about Sam’s pain.

Carefully John removed the stimulator from Sam, before returning to the brush. He took turns, moving between the boys, giving several solid whacks to one boy before returning to the other.

Soon they were both jerking at each reverberating slap against sensitive skin, whether it fell on their own or that of their brother’s. He picked up the pace, moving unpredictably between them as Dean attended to his unresolved orgasm, knowing without John saying it that it was expected.

Sam’s hand reached over to grasp Dean’s bracing arm, squeezing gently as the sobs began to wrack Dean’s body and the third orgasm rushed over him. This time, there was no accompanying ejaculation as Dean’s hips trembled with the force of the dry orgasm that meant his son’s system had been completely cleansed.

His eldest son collapsed to the bed, fully spent and Sam didn’t this time try to hide the tears that freely flowed over his own cheeks. That was John’s indicator that Sam too had reached the needed cleansing point. He gave a final whack to each of the throbbing bottoms to indicate the conclusion.

Relief flooded through John as he was able to set the brush aside and sit on the bed between his still teary eyed boys. Dean rolled onto his side, curling against John and Sam tenderly moved to sit beside him as John put his arms around both of them. It was a hard process for them all, but there wasn’t anything John wouldn’t do for his sons.


End file.
